-Chapter 9-

Deployment Strategies

Unknown Date

1400 Hours

United Republic of North America, Earth

New York City

Colonel James Ackerson smacked the insect crawling on his uniform. Swatted with a snap. Killed the bug instantly. He dusted the thing off and snorted at the annoyance. Then he smoothed out the wrinkle. Readjusted his medals, and readjusted his collar.

"Would you like a glass o-"

"No. I would like quiet, lieutenant. Consider your career on the line for it."

The junior-grade lieutenant nodded frantically and shot his gaze to the datapad in front of him.

James checked his chronometer. Figured it was time enough. He snapped a finger, signaling for the holochamber to be sealed. Seconds later, the floor surrounding James began to rise. A circle of about 5 meters in diameter rose to the ceiling. It sealed James as though he'd been stored inside some type of cocoon or sarcophagus. Cut him off from the outside environment, leaving him alone in pure darkness. Then after that, the holochamber came to life. The darkness was replaced by a 3-dimensional, 360-degree holoprojection field. From above to below, from the front to the rear, from the left to the right. It was as if James had teleported, because he now found himself standing in what appeared to be a bridge. He could see the forward NAV stations and cockpit area in front of him. To his rear, he could see the aft section, where crates and containers were sealed to the pitch-black bulkhead. To his left was more adjutant officers who were conveniently exiting the bridge, and to his right was Captain Cook. So James turned in that direction.

Studied the man for a second. Cook had that age-old spook look, no doubt. A tight buzzcut, framing a narrow head that contained acutely beady eyes. Eyes with a distant look in them. And the man was slender. Built like a stick figure. The most telltale sign was in the way he moved, though. Cook did a simple nod - a very curt and precise one. As if he'd been practicing this greeting for the past three weeks. And the salute he gave was just as succinct.

There was no doubt this man was an ONI veteran.

James fired off his own salute, then pointed toward the bow. "This is a fine ship."

"It is," Cook answered.

Hmm. "So I'm wondering why you're late, Captain."

Cook tilted his head to one side. "Military bureaucracy."

"You're more than a year late. Bureaucracy doesn't account for failure."

Cook tilted his head to the other side. "Your feuds are numerous. Between Catherine Halsey and Nicolaus Andretti, you're lucky anyone was able to get here in time. I am under no obligations to explain further."

So he's got backbone.

"The Spartan-IIIs are ONI's project just as much as they are mine. I find it strange you all seem so willing to play it close like this. Nearly 20 of Beta Company's been hard-signed to Group Three and elsewehere. Eight more in the Headhunters."

"Acceptable losses," Cook responded to the provocation.

James had to figure he wasn't going to get much else detail out of Cook. The guy was being especially tight-lipped, even for an ONI spook. It was just strange, the whole ordeal. James was a bit aggressive and impatient - but he was no fool. Some kind of intentional interference was the only thing to explain why ONI was just now getting him off of Earth. He'd finished his stint as a temporary stand-in for Network Commander of Earth's defense platform array. Finished it over a year ago, with more than enough time. James had even taken advantage of the downtime. Allowed himself a two-month vacation on Earth. It wasn't so often he got to see humanity's illustrious homeworld. But he'd contacted Beta-5 immediately after that. It shouldn't have taken them this long. It'd taken them too long.

"What aren't you telling me, Captain?"

"This: we have only 20 minutes before we must leave this site. I suggest you stop talking to me and start getting packed. My prowler won't be here after those 20 minutes."

James cursed. He didn't like Cook one bit. But he did take heed of the warning and shut off the holochamber.

He said... 'Your feuds are numerous'... But Halsey doesn't have the authority to run interference against ONI. Not for that long. And she doesn't even know Beta-5 exists. Neither does that pencil-neck Andretti.

But more than a few outsiders know. As far as I know. Who among them?

James marched out of the room once the holochamber finally retracted fully into the floor. Passed by the lieutenant and headed towards the taxi ring. He crunched numbers in his head. Ran through multiple logic chains. Tried to reach as many sensible conclusions as possible. By the time he made it to a taxi, he'd formulated a list of possible players.

"To where?" the AI asked.

"Run SN: 04272-99385-JA. Location SP-81 B field 'Harrowshoe'," James snapped before returning to his thoughts.

The AI processed the input. Took it more than a few seconds. "Credentials confirmed. Location confirmed. Now traveling to UNSC spaceport facility Harrowshoe."

James wished he had his datapad with him. All of his things were secured in his locker at Harrowshoe, however. So he tried to recall what he could about those possible players. There were several of them he figured to be the most likely responsible. Colonel Pickett, Commodore Yang Wen-li, Tech-Ops Master Deonte Johnson. Cole. Shepard.

James scratched at the stubble on his chin. He'd have a lot to work on during his transit to Reach. He would have to get to the bottom of ONI's bullshit. And most importantly, he would have to get back at the helm of the S-III Deployment/Maintenance Committee. Guarantee that the rest of Beta Company remain under the fold of NAVSPECWEP.


October 25, 2544

1200 Hours

Stallhorse Forest, Onyx

Camp Currahee Recreation Park

For the past few days, Beta Company had been, essentially, relaxing. For the first time since arriving on Onyx. On paper, it was meant as a type of honeymoon period. A reprieve from the near-constant hardships. A chance to take it easy, if for only a brief period of time. And that was partly true. However, the primary reason was to allow the spartans to familiarize themselves with their augmentations. Test their physical capabilities. And so they'd been in the recreation park for the past few days, competing against each other in various athletic trials and sports. Everything from relay races to baseball, where the spartans were throwing pitches upwards of 240 kilometers per hour.

Saint hadn't ever been the type to play baseball.

Wasn't the type to play gravball either, but he found himself on the repulsor court anyway. Competing with his team as part of a tournament. Despite the pretenses, this wasn't about fun or relaxation. Gravball was serious business, and victory meant everything. So even though Saint preferred basketball, he was trying his absolute best to win this current game. Running with the ball in hand, moving so fast he appeared to be in fast-forward to the average onlooker. To Saint, everything seemed to be moving slower than normal, however. He still had yet to get used to the speed at which his brain processed and reacted to information. Everything felt like it was moving a bit too slow.

So when the opponent blitzer curved to tackle him, Saint saw it coming practically instantly. It was Owen - Saint's longtime buddy since before he could remember. The two spartans collided into one another, the contact explosive and brutal. Owen went low, but Saint went lower. Threw his whole back into the collision. The impact was stunning. Loud and crackling. It sent Owen bouncing away and sliding several feet across the court, while Saint stumbled and rolled to the side, barely managing to keep up his momentum. But he held onto the ball.

By the time he scrambled back to a full-sprint, another blitzer had dived at him. This time, Saint didn't have time to see who. Instead, he spun backwards and cut back toward the opposite direction - dodging the blitzer and opening up a direct path to the enemy goal.

Got it! Saint went full head-down, charging across the court at maximum speed and gearing up to throw a shot. Their defender was Aung. Aung was taller than he'd been before. Taller, longer-limbed and a lot more agile. But Saint had a wicked curve-skim, and he knew just how to defeat Aung.

Saint cocked his arm back and -

- a freight train collided into him from the side. Or something.

"OOF!" Air evacuated his lungs and he lost all grip on the ball. Crashed into the court like a falling stack of bricks. He rolled, bounced and slid for several meters before slamming against the wall. He hadn't felt a blow like that to his midsection since the time Ambrose had kicked him. Thankfully, Saint was a fully-augmented spartan now. Even still, the tackle stung like hell.

Saint rolled to his hands and knees. Looked up at his assailant.

A cocky smile on her face. "Not in my house, Lone Wolf," Sindy told him as she dusted off her uniform.

She held out a hand. Saint gripped it, and she hauled him to his feet. Saint tapped the side of his helmet - it was still on. "That it? You used to hit harder back in the day," Saint lied with a wink.

An overhead COM activated. "Saint-B312, down at 190 meters. Team Jonah's ball. Fifteen seconds on the clock."

Shit.

Saint shook his head, walking back over to the rest of his team. He watched Sindy as she went back to her own team. The augmentations had done wonders on her. Turned her body into that of an interstellar-class athlete. But those Martian features were still there. The red hair and the red eyes. If anything, her hair and eyes both seemed brighter than before. As if some type of fiery glow had been applied to them. And she'd been killing the performance trials. Overall performing better than everyone in the Company... Except Saint.

A lot had changed in the past few years, and Saint had spent every single day of it in high-intensity battle and infiltration simulations. And he was determined not to lose to her anymore.

"I told you not to pull ahead, Saint," Tom said, causing Saint to break off his gaze. "Now they have ball, and a chance to send us to overtime."

Saint rushed to huddle together with the team. "True, but I know what play they're gonna run. If we stop them, we win."

"And what play is that?" Covan asked, flexing the snatchcord wrapped around his right forearm.

"Their cruicer is going to take it out to the right... Then magneskip it back out to Sindy on our left, right as she gets to scoring range. And she's too slippery for an easy tackle."

"Based on what?" Tom seemed unconvinced.

"Her team was in this same situation last match, when they played Roland's team. It's the play they ran, and it's pretty reliable - if the other team doesn't predict it."

Tom nodded. "Ohkay then. We'll assume you're right. We'll counter. But we can't make it obvious we know..."

There was a brief pause as the team pondered their next step. Gravball was as much a game of strategy as it was direct contact. Players had to play their positions wisely. And from the matches Saint had observed over the past 2 days, Sindy's team probably had one of the better cruicers in the Company. It was none other than Jonah. The cruicer position was essentially the most important role on a team, as it was the only position that had multiple 'alterants' - special ability modifiers that could be activated every so often. All the other positions only had one alterant. Like the snatchcord that Covan used in his position as a trapper.

The magneskip utilized the physics of the court to magnetically alter the gravball's levitation zone and draw it to any player on the court. It was essentially a guaranteed pass, and Jonah always used it at the right moment.

"We'll overload the righthand side at an offset after play begins," Tom suggested then. "That'll force them to react on our terms. Jonah's going to have to fall back and go for an early magneskip."

"Right."

"Blitzers are on player-to-player coverage," Tom added, then pointed at Saint. "You've got Sindy. Don't let her beat you."

Saint nodded. Then looked to Covan. "We'll do it this time."

"I'll be on it," Covan nodded.

"Everyone clear? Then let's go!"

They broke from their huddle, the 8-player team spreading out into a basic defensive formation. The typical even split, with four players guarding the center of the formation, with two on either wing. Saint did his job, and lined up on the court directly across from Sindy. Player-to-player coverage. She pointed at Saint, cracked a smile, and held up a hand to taunt him. Made a L with her index finger and thumb.

"Loser!"

Saint held up his own hand. Did a gesture beckoning her over. "Come get it."

Both of them were blitzers - essentially the frontline scoring role for their respective teams. Able to catch any range skim and score with any range skim. But no matter how good Saint was, he couldn't intercept a magneskip. So this was going to come down to a test of ingenuity - and Saint was not about to be crossed up or run over.

"Hut!" Jonah called out from across the court.

One of their centerline players skimmed the gravball back to the waiting Jonah; it carved through mid-air and landed safely in his hands. Action kicked off then as Saint began backpedaling, his eyes already scanning that right end side of the court.

Sure enough, Tom was leading the way. Him, the four center players, and the other two on the far right descended in a blitz on a surprised Jonah. Blocking and tackling commenced as the two teams fought to break through either side. Tom succeeded first, however, slipping between a pair of defenders and practically flying at Jonah. Faster than Jonah had anticipated. Tom probably would've caught him, too - if it weren't for the opposing team's trapper. A snatchcord slipped out of nowhere, wrapping completely around Tom's ankle. It tripped Tom and sent him straight to he floor. In spite of that, Tom's decision to shift almost the entire team to that side of the court had paid off; that midplay audible had caught Jonah by surprise, and he went for an emergency scramble to the rear.

Saint saw all of this unfold in minute detail. And still, it appeared too slow. Despite all the action, barely any real time had passed when Jonah went for the magnespike.

Saint was watching Sindy then. She was moving fast, even for Saint, and cut to the inside almost instantly. Saint made to follow - and she'd already twisted back in the opposite direction. Spun around Saint, her hands shoving him further to the inside as she broke for the outside. Saint barely caught his footing, but by then, Sindy was already several meters off.

As Saint had planned for.

Then the magneskip happened. Saint saw it out the corner of his eyes. The silver-blue glow that discharged from Jonah's gauntlets. The gravball broke free from it's levitation-skim, arcing to the ceiling at breakneck speed, where it skimmed up there for several meters before immediately switching trajectories. It fired toward Sindy like a rocket. She caught it single-handed with a dive that sent her closer to scoring range.

The play would've worked. Would've been a good one, had Saint not been expecting it. But he'd intentionally given her a lot of space.

Tapping his own gauntlet, the boosters in Saint's equipment activated. Provided him a temporary burst of speed. He used it wisely - instead of running with it, he took two steps and leaped into the air, stretching one hand out as far as he could.

All I need is enough momentum to make her lose the ball.

"Covan!" Saint shouted in mid-air to the top of his lungs.

Covan was right on time. Rolled past an opponent player with a slide and whipped an arm, sending the snatchcord to twist and lock onto Saint's outstretched forearm. Then Covan spun, practically flinging Saint like a slingshot. Even without the augmentations, Covan's suit would've provided more than enough of a strength multiplier to pull that off. But with those augmentations, Saint had basically been fired out of a cannon. Like at some type of circus stunt show.

Saint closed the distance to Sindy so quick that she had just enough time to brace herself. It wouldn't do her any good.

The pair crashed. Slid, bounded and rolled. Flipped and got tangled up. Saint felt as though he were in the middle of a car crash.

Saint's view rapidly alternated between faceplant and backside. It was coin flip odds type of stuff. When they finally skid to a halt, Saint ended up on the faceplant side of things. He groaned, and rolled onto his back. Felt slightly dizzy. But the play had worked. He and Covan had been practicing the move for a while now... With mixed results at best. Saint figured it must've been a stroke of luck to pull it off so successfully in the heat of an actual match.

The intercom kicked on. "Sindy-B129, down at 140 meters! Game over! Team Tom wins, score 15 to 14."

"For an idiot," he heard Sindy say. "You flew pretty good."

Saint took it as a compliment. Figured that was the best he'd get from her. He craned his neck to look at her. She was similarly lying on her back several feet away. Her helmet had come off. Saint got to his knees, still utterly relieved at the victory. Tom and the others clapped hands. Covan held out a thumbs-up and nodded to Saint - to which, Saint returned the gesture.

"Nice one," Jonah said, jogging over and pulling off his helmet. He took a second to help Sindy get to her feet. "Lone Wolf's still full of surprises, huh?"

"A little bit," Sindy seemed to agree.

"Alright, well... We'll see you at the ceremony, brother," Jonah said. Then he added, "And don't forget to wear your uniform. Don't think I forgot about '39," Jonah pointed at Saint with a knowing smile. Then he and Sindy walked off together.

Saint shook his head. Sighed. He hadn't thought about that incident in years. That day when Beta Company had been summoned... And Saint had foolishly worn a t-shirt and sweatpants instead of his uniform. The DIs had made Saint do janitorial work - and everyone's laundry - for a whole week, on top of sending him to sleep in the woods.

Jonah was still on the jokester tip, even after all this time.

Even still... For the first time since leaving Jericho VII, Saint realized that he felt... Content. At-ease. Optimistic and proud. Not only for himself, but for everyone else. Beta Company had done what few others had: they'd become spartans. They'd become what Ambrose had promised them. And with their newfound tools - their newfound identity - Saint felt as though there was no challenge they couldn't overcome.

Of course, Saint didn't realize it at the time. Not in that moment, and not for many years to come. Not until after countless ponderous self-reflections. But that time in the Recreation Park would be Saint's last time ever seeing almost the entirety of Beta Company. Most of them would be dead within a year.


November 7, 2544

Lieutenant Alex Truniht swallowed a Voidjoy whole. Then popped another one in his mouth, and took the time to chew that second one. Swallowed what remained of it, then bit a chunk out of a chocolate bar. A tooth ached in wailing pain at the back of his mouth. Deep Winter had warned him about cavities dozens of times. Alex had never been able to help himself. So he just grunted at the pain, rubbed his jaw, and popped a final Voidjoy into his mouth.

Despite his efforts, though, Alex couldn't quite shake the nerves. His leg fidgeted. His mouth itched for another piece of candy. Only his willpower kept him from indulging in that vice any further. For the time being, at least.

"Is that everybody?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Commander. Deployment overview is set to begin at your command," Deep winter replied. The AI seemed to be stooped more than before. More aged and weary. The years were starting to catch up to him.

"Then let me start by saying this," Ambrose stood on top of a table. It was a tactical move. Magnified his presence - made him the undisputed center of attention and authority in the room.

"Each and every one of you gathered here made this day possible. Your efforts brought us through years of failure, setbacks and tribulations. We've seen struggle and sacrifice... And we've had to do things that... I think, none of us wanted to. Not for our own sake, or because of coercion or threat of force. But because of an understanding that victory can not be achieved without sacrifice. This is a lesson our forefathers passed on to us. From the frontlines of the Ostfront, to the orbital battles of the Interplanetary Wars. Some of us have sacrificed our lives; others, our humanity. But that kind of sacrifice is what we all expected. It's what we all prepared for. What we hardened ourselves for.

"I'm proud of you all, and you all should be proud of each other. Most of all, you should be proud of Beta Company. We brought them to this world as kids. Children. Bright, intelligent, and brave, all of them. We stripped them of that virtue; stole away their livelihoods and their futures. And they met the challenge. They entered this pit, and emerged out the other side as spartans. The finest of them, and they will be the heroes humanity needs - not just for survival, but for victory.

"These past several years were the easy part. The War rages on, and we face an alien threat. We face extinction. We face the end.

"Before we continue here, I would like to give a special thanks to the Lieutenant, Alex Truniht," Ambrose gestured to Alex.

Alex stood from his seat. He bowed to the left, then to the right, and did a salute. Then quickly sat back down. Resisted the urge to slump and hide in his seat.

"The Lieutenant's put in a lot of work behind the scenes to make sure Beta Company isn't wasted. He's done an exceptional job. Unfortunately, we weren't able to achieve the success we'd hoped for. After tomorrow's graduation ceremony, 271 spartans of Beta Company will remain under the operational control of NAVSPECWEP... And the preliminary drafts of several planned operations look bleak."

Ambrose cleared his throat. Then he tapped a button on a remote in his hand. A second later, a holographic projection filled the space in front of him. It contained the IDs of 29 Beta Company spartans. Just their photos and service numbers.

"These 29 spartans are those that Lieutenant Truniht, CPO Mendez and I were able to successfully reassign to other sectors of the UNSC. Most of them will serve as part of the Specialist Teams in Special Warfare Group Three of the Army. Some of them will be in the Headhunters unit. Others elsewhere. Two will be joining the Air Force as part of the Expeditionary Space Warfare and Operations Command - you'll all know it as ESWOC."

Alex sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. Only 29 of them had gotten away from ONI. That was a pathetic number. Far too few. And of that 29, not all of the most ideal candidates had been included. Of particular note was Tom. It'd been Ambrose's idea. Tom was Beta Company's leader. And if most of Beta was going to be sent on suicide ops, they'd be better off with Tom leading the way, Ambrose had reasoned. Others still hadn't been reassigned, though they'd been more than worthy.

Still, Alex figured things might turn out alright. Particularly because of the spartans they'd managed to get into ESWOC. ESWOC cared for its own, provided them with the highest-grade equipment, and spared no expense when it came to wise strategical investments. It was the kind of place that Beta Company was truly meant for. The kind of place where a spartan would thrive and prosper. Alex only wished they could've gotten more than just two in it.

"I find it difficult to tell you this," Ambrose continued. "But I've always been honest with you all, and I won't stop now. Listen: By this time next year, you should expect all 271 members of the official Beta Company to be KIA. Starting as early as a week from now, they'll be deploying behind Covenant lines and hitting critical military assets... They'll be doing that until there's nothing left of them.

"These 29 spartans I'm showing you won't be in that number. They won't be officially part of the unit any longer. I tell you this because I expect you to commit these names and faces to memory. I expect you to know each and every one of them. Because these spartans will likely last late into the War... And they'll need allies like us to help keep them alive. The UNSC has no shortage of sharks, looking to get their fingers on the Spartan-IIIs and use them for personal reasons."

Ambrose continued, still pacing back and forth on the table. "Some of you will return to your original assignments after this week, whether that be in the Navy or elsewhere. Take what you've learned here and bring it with you."


November 8, 2544

1930 Hours

Stallhorse Forest, Onyx

Camp Currahee Primary Assembly Hall

Saint-B312 found himself amongst his peers. Amongst all of Beta Company. For the final time, he knew.

Everyone was here, and it reminded Saint of that very first day of training. Way back when he'd been a little kid. Scared and tired and cold. Back when he'd first seen what a spartan was, and when he'd gotten his very first taste of military life. Of course, there were far fewer members of the Company now. A little over a thousand had been present at that first day. The years had not been kind, and that number now stood at 300. Some of those lost members simply hadn't made the cut. At least a couple hundred of them. For one reason or another, their performance just hadn't been up to par. And so they'd gotten discharged. Saint didn't know where. Maybe they'd been sent back home. More likely, they'd been sent to a military academy, where they could grow up in a more natural environment. A more normal one, where they'd still go on to serve the UNSC, but not as spartans. But most of the lost members had ultimately died. The years had not been kind.

Saint adjusted his collar. He was wearing a standard-issue Air Force dress uniform. His dress-reds, which had been issued to him about 2 weeks ago. The undershirt was black, while the suit jacket and trousers were dark red with trimming and stitching in either gold or dark blue. Dark blue gloves covered his hands. The thick shoulder epaulettes were both also a dark blue color, with an aiguillette running from his right shoulder to his chest and back. The collar was high and tight. Made Saint feel like a Late Modern-era general. Made Saint feel like his name was Alexander Suvorov. Most notable was the small cape that hung from Saint's left shoulder; it flowed along his back as if it were hair. As if it were his long-lost dreadlocks. The cape was some type of crystalline-silver color, and signified that Saint was a member of the Expeditionary Space Warfare and Operations Command - which most people just seemed to call ESWOC.

Aside from that, there was now a new rank stenciled onto his epaulettes and cuffs - Ensign.

Details were still a bit unclear. But Saint and some of the others had been transferred and given commission to become officers. It came with the reassignments. Saint wasn't the only one who would, effectively, be leaving Beta Company behind.

"I don't get it, amico mio," Covan-B117 said as he poured himself a glass of elicsin.

Saint drank from his own glass. Elicsin wasn't really an alcoholic beverage - not like that hard stuff Tom had been sneaking into the barracks lately - but it was just as strong. A different type of strong. The sensation was like... Burning, or something. Like it prickled his throat. Everyone said it was some type of drink called 'soda'. Whatever the case, Saint wasn't so sure he was a fan.

"They already separated us during trainin'. Shoulda let us back in the Company, know'm sayin'?" Covan asked, but Saint had no real answer.

Like Saint, Covan was one of the few who'd been reassigned, and was the only other guy going to the ESWOC. They stood apart from the larger groups in the assembly hall. Hugging the wall near the refreshments table and talking in close confidence.

"Probably has something to do with HIGHCOM," Saint suggested. "Don't know if you checked, but since they commissioned us, we got access to the SING on the Waypoint. Lot of interesting stuff to read about."

"I took a lil look at it. Hella-chaotic."

Saint nodded in agreement. SING - Service Intelligence and News Grid. A specialized network within the Waypoint for use by UNSC officers. It was essentially an esoteric military news and information repository. Access to most sections of it was still restricted, however. Saint figured that was because his rank wasn't high enough.

Covan tapped him on the arm. Pointed out across the room to a group of spartans on the far side. "She's, uh... Changed."

Saint tilted his head to get a better angle. He spotted Kat-B320. Short hair and fierce eyes. Before the augmentations, she'd been unrivaled in her technical expertise and intelligence. Now... Saint was certain that Kat could hack into virtually anything she wanted to. Could figure out whatever she wanted to.

"She didn't used to be so scary," Saint whispered.

"I think'm gonna miss her."

Saint looked at Covan. Also like Saint, Covan had contracted various physical characteristics as a result of the augmentations. Small inky black lines stretched out from his eyes like some type of tattoo or decoration, contrasting sharply with his otherwise pale skin. And his hair, which had previously been pitch black, was now a ghostly silver. As were his eyes. Covan looked like he'd been born and raised in one of those rare black hole nations. Looked like a voidwalker.

"Go talk to her," Saint suggested, downing the rest of his elicsin. "Probably won't ever see her again after tomorrow."

"Well, I can't just leave you here to brood alone, can I?"

"I'll see enough of your ugly mug when we go to Triumph, buddy," Saint joked.

Covan smirked. Tapped Saint on the arm a final time and headed off.

Alone again, Saint decided to head outside to the balcony. He topped off on the elicsin first, though. Maybe the drink was starting to grow on him.

Saint emerged outside about a minute later. Walked over to the railing along the wall and scanned around. It was dark out. Something around late evening time in Stallhorse Forest. The assembly hall was about 6 stories off the ground. At the apex of the Camp Currahee Intelligence Center. Not the tallest point in the base, but it was up there. Down below, Saint could see most of Currahee. The place he'd more or less called home for over half his life. Up above, he could see stars upon stars. That was where the War was being fought. Saint wasn't so certain what he'd find when he got into battle, though. No degree of training could prepare him, of that he was certain.

That prompted him to pull out his datapad. Thumbed through to the Waypoint. Saint was still trying to get used to navigating it. They'd only allowed access to it after the augmentation trials, and it was all still new to Saint. Everything. Society, entertainment, cultures. Protests and politicians, music artists and festivals. General news itself. It felt like a different world - one that Saint didn't belong in, and so he ignored most of it. He made it to SING.

Credentials?

Saint keyed in: UNSCAF_SN_B-312::BD = 04/17/2531

A moment later, the primary SING dashboard appeared on the screen. A list of headlines scrolled along the screen. Most of it was information pertaining to fleet formations and battle groups funneling through Reach. Logistics reports and supply chain deficits. A list of general alerts and pings from across UEG space. He found a section containing multiple servicemembers being mentioned in dispatches. Spent a minute sifting through the names and deeds, which led him to a further database containing reports on recent skirmishes against hostile human forces. An ongoing campaign against the United Rebel Front, a firefight that'd broken out against Venezian insurgents, a series of fleet actions against several pirate flotillas. That database connected to another one containing reports on recent and ongoing conflicts against the Covenant. It was mostly the same - small-scale engagements and skirmishes along the Covenant's invasion routes. Fleet engagements, as well as a number of black operations that were too classified for Saint to view.

A primary alert appeared at the bottom of the feed, coinciding with the datapad vibrating. Saint tapped the alert immediately. 'Covenant raiders present in the Ferillion System; 34th Jump-Jet Legion'. Saint tapped the report, and it brought up a further reading describing the state of the conflict. A lot of the information seemed to be new. Preliminary. Information travels slow. But it detailed a small Covenant task force that'd appeared in Ferillion. Three ships, and an estimated 18 thousand or more enemy troops. A war was being fought for control of the system, and apparently, the Covenant seemed keen on trying to capture prisoners. Saint didn't want to imagine why. Although one of the habitats in the system had been lost, the local forces were now putting up a decent fight - particularly due to ODSTs from the 34th Jump-Jet Legion who'd arrived in-system. Reinforcements and supplies were being requested from any available forces.

Of note was a starred highlight. A high-priority target was in the system. Special assets were being requested to neutralize it.

Saint tapped the highlight to get more information... But an unauthorized alert popped up on his screen. He didn't have the security clearance to view it.

"Damn it," Saint groaned. He had half a mind to go join Covan, just to ask Kat if she could bypass the clearance check.

"'Damn it', indeed," he heard from behind. "Your aiguillette's on wrong."

Saint sighed. Partly embarrassed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm, uh..."

"An idiot," Sindy added. He felt her hands adjust the aiguillette, shifting it into place along his back and up toward his shoulder.

"You really love that word, huh?"

"When it applies," She said, patting him on the back as she finished. "As it does in your case."

Saint turned around. He hadn't seen her yet this night. She was wearing the Marine Corps dress-uniform. The variant that came with the studded green gemstones along the right breastpocket, signifying her membership within STRG - Special Tasks and Reconnaissance Group. That was a common nickname for the unit, though. Nobody knew it's actual designation. STRG was a ghost unit - the kind that, officially speaking, never existed. The kind that nobody ever heard about, and nobody ever would.

"You used to be a lot more..."

"More what?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm glad you made it."

She cocked her head to the side. Did that smile. "Oh, yeah?"

Saint leaned up against the railing. Took a sip of his elicsin. "Of course."

"You used to dislike me a lot. Seems like that was just yesterday," Sindy said. She leaned against the railing next to him.

"I'm usually not one for small-talk," Saint started. He swilled the elicsin around inside the glass. Watched its contents spiral into a tornado. "Fortunately for you, you're one of the few people I don't mind."

"Fortunately for me?"

"That's right. I offer a lot of valuable insight, at no cost."

"Tell me you're joking... Insight like what?"

He turned around on the railing and looked back out across Camp Currahee. Pointed in the direction of the special assembly plants. "Like, Ambrose is gonna train up a new company."

Sindy followed his gaze. "How do you know?"

"Si 14," he told her. "You can't find any of it in Onyx's crust. Not naturally. It has to be shipped here."

"Ohkay... I don't get what silicon has to do with anything."

"I've only been back here at camp for a few weeks... But I've seen more than two dozen freighters drop in at the assembly plants. All of them with the Caroccet Netaworks insignia. Caroccet's a special manufacturer and engineering group owned by the former ONI scientist Isaac Lewton. And they specialize in enriching crystallized-silicon."

Sindy shrugged. "Please elaborate."

Saint tapped the back of his head. Right where the neural interface was located. "We've got these. And what're they made of?"

"Crystallized-silicon," Sindy came to the realization. "I never understood why you seem to be a walking encyclopedia. But that doesn't prove anything. Doesn't mean they're still making interfaces."

"That's what I said," Saint agreed. "So... I decided to check firsthand."

"You broke into the assembly plant?"

"No. I... You're not going to tell anyone. Right?"

Sindy glanced over her shoulder, back toward the big glass doorways leading to the assembly hall. Then looked back at him. "Tell me."

Saint genuinely wondered if he should at first. Then he figured it would be fine. Wasn't that big of a deal. But he decided to mess with her anyway. "Tell me why I should trust you."

She frowned. Then, she began to smile. That same cocky smile. "Oh... I know. You're not the only one with a brain, you know. You went into the Command Center, didn't you? That's bold."

"Well, don't tell anyone."

"What? About the new spartan company, or that you broke UNSC protocol and should therefore be imprisoned?"

"Uh, either. Please?"

They stood in silence for a while after that. Neither saying anything. In that moment, Saint realized that aside from Owen, Sindy was the only person in Beta Company he'd known since day one. Most of the people he'd met in those first few months of training were either dead or gone by now. And in spite of that, he knew very little about her. Outside of the fact that she was a great spartan, Saint was unfamiliar with her. He supposed it was that way for everyone, really. Saint didn't know much about Tom, or Covan or Kat except what he'd observed in training. There really wasn't much to know. Everyone was spartan; nothing more, nothing less.

"How much do you remember about your old life?" Saint asked, taking another hit from the elicsin. The drink burned. But he was starting to get used to it. It wasn't so bad.

"Not much."

"Same. Most of what I know about Jericho VII, I've read about. All I can really remember in any detail is when we had to evacuate."

"I remember my school. Right in the heart of Shoreline."

"That must've been something. Mars is almost wealthier than Earth."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well, that doesn't mean much when you're at an orphanage boarding school."

That tugged at a very distant memory in Saint's mind. Back to when he'd been in the Jericho VII Community Orphanage. "Did you all travel to Earth one time?"

"I think we did. Something about a symphony."

"In Kenya?"

"Yeah."

"I think we might've met. Remember that big activity center?"

"Yeah. That was you guys?!"

"Yes! Wow!"

She smiled. Bumped her shoulder into his. "All this time, you've been stalking me 312?"

Saint smirked. "Over half a decade of training and your head's still too big - literally and figuratively."

Sindy turned to him. "Would you choose this?"

"What?"

"This. If you could go back, and you knew what was in store... What would you do?"

Saint hadn't thought about that too much lately. All he knew was the military. All he knew was Beta Company, and the war to become a spartan. There was nothing else. Maybe he'd be a student if ONI hadn't gotten him. Probably with a focus in criminal justice or something. Saint always had a knack for unraveling mysteries, and the idea of being a detective of sorts was never too far from his mind. Or some type of secret agent. Like that old character James Bond. Special Agent Saint had a nice ring to it.

But Saint-B312 sounded much better.

"I'd become a spartan. I want to fight and win. I want to die on the battlefield. That's all I want," he told her the truth.

For the past year or so, that was all Saint thought about. That was what gave him motivation. It was his focus, his drive and his only real desire. He wanted to be in the field, where his skills could be put to maximum use.

"I agree."

"Guess you and I do have some things in common," he turned to her. "Took us a long time, but tomorrow we finally get shipped out."

There was another stretch of silence. Then Sindy leaned in to him, putting a hand on his chest. She kissed him.

Saint grabbed her hand. Then let go.

"That's... Against protocol... But..." Pleasant, he wanted to say.

"But now, you'll remember me," Sindy told him with a wink. Then she backed away and headed off inside the assembly hall.

Saint felt an urge to follow her. Kiss her back. He wondered what'd just happened. Wondered if he was currently in a lucid dream. If maybe there truly was something more to life than warfare. Then he remembered his training. Remembered his discipline and honor and integrity. Remembered that life was one long trial of suffering and disappointment - and that he shouldn't cling on to those few experiences of happiness, no matter how blissful. It would only weaken him.

Saint looked back out over Camp Currahee for the final time, his mind racing like lightning. Stood there for a long time. For more than half an hour. Longer than that, even. Until he heard the general call to assembly.

He headed into the assembly hall. Went to the rear of the crowd, where the refreshments were. Covan was there waiting. Saint fell in beside him.

"You alright?"

"Yeah."

Ambrose appeared at the head of the assembly. Up on a platform, just like that first day of training. The spartan was in his personal uniform, too. This was the first time Saint had ever seen it, and the decorations seemed endless. Ribbon after ribbon, numerous medals, multiple medallions, and so on. Unlike that first day, Ambrose didn't yell at anyone this time. Didn't need to. Beta Company wasn't a bunch of scared kids anymore, but instead eager spartans. And so Ambrose simply gestured for the crowd to quiet down.

"I won't say much," Ambrose started. His eyes scanned the crowd. "You don't need any more speeches. So I'll give you some final words of advice. When you leave here, things are going to change. I won't be there with you. Mendez won't be there, Truniht won't be there. You'll have new COs, and those COs will have COs. The UNSC is an intimidating place, and you'll experience a new side of the military you haven't had to deal with before. There'll be rules of engagement. Procedures to follow. Standing orders to obey. The chain-of-command will be complicated, and it'll dictate what you can and cannot do; what you must and must not do. Not everyone is on your side.

"I expect you all to exercise your own judgment when necessary. You have the minds to do so. Bend the rules when you need to. Respect the chain-of-command... But to a certain extent. Remember to always prioritize the mission - don't let anything come in the way of that.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir!"

Ambrose sighed and nodded. "Good. Now, you've been taking it easy these past few weeks. You deserve the break. But that all changes tomorrow when you ship out, and it'll only get harder from there. So take advantage of this last day. Rest up. Meditate and sleep. Prepare yourself. We've trained you hard, and we've done our best to ready you for the grim realities of war. The snap decisions you'll have to make, the fellow soldiers you'll witness die, the losses you'll sustain. There won't be a Deep Winter out there on the battlefield to guide you, there won't be a Mendez out there to keep you focused. There won't be an Ambrose to look up to. You'll have to keep yourself alive in situations you've never imagined before.

"That's how it was with me," Ambrose continued.

Saint perked up. The Lieutenant Commander had never spoken about his service before. Everyone knew the man was a veteran spartan. Probably even a war hero, and that he'd served directly alongside the legendary Master Chief. But nobody knew any specifics or details. Not even Kat, and she specialized in breaking into CSVs.

"When I finished my spartan training, the War hadn't even existed. There was no Covenant back then. And we weren't prepared for it. It cost us a lot. My brothers and sisters and I, we had to learn a lot of lessons the hard way. We had to learn about hunters on-the-spot. We had to learn how to evade hunter-killer teams on the moons of Rodan. We had to learn how to kill scarabs in the moment, when they were obliterating tanks on Ikox VII. How to fend off grunt armadas as they were trampling our defenses on Hadespur. We didn't really know what an energy projector was until it was already burning away our allies. Glassing worlds in front of us. We didn't know what it means to lose a friend in combat until we lost Sam.

"I've instilled as many lessons into you as I possibly can. I made the decision to take it so far as to put lives on the line, so that you'll understand and be familiar with sacrifice and loss. But there'll be many more lessons that I can't teach you. I simply can't. You'll have to find out the hard way. When those moments come, trust your instincts. Trust your training. Trust that little itch at the back of your mind, that feeling in your gut. And do not hesitate. It'll be what keeps you alive.

"Beta Company... I'm proud of every single one of you. You're spartans. So let me be candid: few of you will live to see the day we win this War once and for all. If any. If you're one of those that reaches that other side... Regroup and standby. Know that your life meant something. And that when I get there, I expect a full accounting of your deeds. I expect to be impressed.

"IS THAT CLEAR!?"

"AYE, SIR!"